


Strong Roots

by dylanthedino



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Assassin Stiles Stilinski, BAMF Stiles, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Has a Crush on Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Has a Nice Ass, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Isaac Lahey & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Slow Burn, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Has a Crush on Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Is Bad at Feelings, Stiles Stilinski Is So Done, Stiles Stilinski Leaves Beacon Hills, Stiles Stilinski Leaves the Pack, Stiles Stilinski is Pushed Out of the Pack, Stiles changes his name, Vampires, at least stiles is legal now lmao, but I love him, but this fic is serious i swear, derek is 34, dont @ me, i have no idea where im going with this, ill do my best to actually research i swear, its true, main oc female character, pan derek hale, scott has good intentions but hes dumb omfg, stiles is 28, these tags have crack energy, they're both so stupid i love them, to mitch rapp lmao sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24236560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dylanthedino/pseuds/dylanthedino
Summary: Stiles left Beacon Hills behind a long time ago.He has a new life now.Okay, maybe living under the radar, not settling in one place, having only one close friend, and allowing the bare minimum of contact with family isn't a glamorous life, but it is how it is.After Stiles' dad gets hurt, he needs to return home for the first time in years.How will everyone readjust to this new Stiles? And how will Stiles deal with an old, problematic crush resurfacing?
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey/Danny Mahealani, Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Scott McCall/Malia Tate
Comments: 42
Kudos: 378





	1. The Text

**Author's Note:**

> Aight so this is my first time writing a proper fic in years, and I realise now that this is a very bold choice. Enjoy my creation :)

Stiles stares down at his phone, body rigid and face flat. Which is impressive, since even at his age, it's hard for the man to just sit still.<

From +209-207-4019

\- Stiles, your dad has been in accident at work. Don't worry, his injuries aren't a threat to his life, but he can't manage as acting sheriff in his state. I would look after him myself, but with everything going on, I can't tend to him without neglecting my job. I know it's a big ask, and if it's an inconvenience, then other arrangements will be made, and I can assure you that Noah will be properly cared for. I just thought that you would be the best choice. Noah has been missing you so much, and it would mean so much to him. And me. I know it's been a while, but I still think of you like my son, Stiles. You are under no obligation, and I understand if it isn't a great time for you. But please just think about it. Text me back soon. -Melissa x

Stiles gulps, which he notices is actually quite difficult with a tensed jaw.  
He hasn't seen his father in 10 years. He's gone a decade without so much as hugging the man who raised him. The man who he, at one point in time, had relied on for everything.  
The first couple of years, he and the Sheriff had regularly skyped, and his father was always completely in the loop with his son's life. But, as the years dwindled on, the skype calls became less and less frequent, Stiles' began to shut the man out. God, he doesn't even know what Stiles' looks like now, or what he does for a living. Stiles, obviously, has good reasoning for these things. Stiles' job is strictly classified, even from his dad. And as for looks... well, let's just say Stiles forgot about keeping up with personal hygiene years back.  
Things were like this for reason, though. Sure it hurt Stiles, and it probably hurt his dad, but that's just the way things had to be now.  
To go back now... any kind of exterior he built would crumble.  
How could he look his father in the eye? Or Melissa, for that matter? And of course, where there's Melissa, there's... Scott.  
It occurs to Stiles that Melissa had refrained from mentioning her son, or the rest of the pack. That is if the pack that Stiles once knew is still there, and not entirely reconstructed. It could be full to the brim with brand new insecure highschoolers with hero complexes and some form of a personality disorder. Strangers, who may not even know that Stiles was ever there. Stiles shakes off the thought that makes his sight flash red with sudden anger, and drags himself back to the subject of the crumbling relationship with his father. Come to think of it, Stiles' dad never mentions the pack in any of the conversations they have nowadays (sure, that could be put down to the fact that their phone calls are on average 7 minutes and 26 seconds long about once or twice every month, but to Stiles it feels deliberate).  
The only pack member that Stiles still has contact with is Lydia. He honestly doesn't know if she even is still pack. He knows she went to MIT shortly after he left Beacon Hills and, to his knowledge, still lives in Massachusetts with her long-time boyfriend, of whom Stiles has yet to meet, to this day. Every few months, six at the most, she and Stiles get together, get dinner and hit a few bars. Damn it, even Lydia never brings the pack up, even if Stiles kinda is kinda dancing around the topic.  
Stiles finds himself suddenly wondering what Melissa meant by 'everything going on', before yanking his thoughts back. That was a dangerous road to cross, even 10 years later. When put to the test, who knows how much impulse control Stiles has when it comes to the pack. Stiles finds it pathetic how naturally hopelessly devoted to Scott Stiles can be when he forgets himself.

Stiles didn't settle down somewhere long-term like Lydia, he gets around because of work. He and his work partner of 7 years are moving from place to place constantly, all around the map, steering clear of California. Currently, they reside in a 2 bedroom, dingy apartment in Manhattan. Where they've been for maybe 4 months now. Their employers don't make sure they live in luxury while doing their job, that's for sure.

"Honey, you doing okay?"

A familiar voice snaps Stiles' out of his trance, pulling his gaze towards the source.  
His partner, Ashlyn, is stood in his bedroom doorway way, arms crossed lazily across her chest and leaning against the left side of the door frame, her figure blocking the light source from the kitchen, creating a shadow that spills out across Stiles' room.  
Ashlyn has smooth caramel skin sprinkled in freckles, curly brown hair that grows outwards like a small afro, reaching down to her shoulders, and hazel doe eyes to match Stiles' own. She is currently wearing simple black leggings that shape her legs, and one of Stiles' old graphic tees. It's easy for Stiles to moon over Ashlyn's natural beauty, in a completely platonic way, of course.

It's impossible for Stiles' to comprehend how his best friend can manage to look so effortlessly gorgeous, whilst Stiles is currently sporting greasy hair down to his shoulders, and a beard that goes just beyond what would be considered a stubble, because he hasn't found the time to properly clean himself up. Although, he also kinda likes it. He looks so... different from the spastic, skinny, sarcastic, pre-pubescent, dangerously sleep deprived kid the world once knew. This new look shows he's now an also sleep-deprived, muscly man with a such thing as impulse control (not a whole lot of it, but at least it's there now), who knows when to keep his goddamned mouth shut (though he can sometimes be prone to losing a grip on his own tongue, just not as bad or as often), who was widely considered a THREAT. Yup, that's Stiles Stilinski. Well, not quite. That's Mitch Rapp, now. He thought changing his name before going into this business would be the best move. Not legally, of course, but that's what people in his business knew him as. If the Sheriff had ever searched Stiles' name on the computer system at the station and found no recent pictures, listed job, or any evidence that Stiles was an active member of society since he was 21, he had never mentioned it.

"Uh, I guess, not really."

His voice isn't completely steady, and anyone else might have missed it, but not Ash. Her cupids bow turns into a frown.  
She quickly darts across Stiles' bedroom to sit besides him on his bed, arm moving to rest loosely around Stiles' waist.  
He glances back down at the phone, not realising the screen had gone dark while he was thinking things over.  
He hands the phone to Ash, who knows his password, laying his forehead on her shoulder.

He soon quirks his chin up to watch Ash's expression as she reads the message, slight worry lines appearing on her forehead as she contemplates the message. Stiles' has told her everything about Beacon Hills and all they went through. Everything.  
She places Stiles' phone to her left and wraps both arms around Stiles' as he leans against her, offering him unspoken moral support.  
They sit in silence for a moment before Ash prompts,  
"Are you gonna go?"

Stiles lifts himself from Ash's embrace, groaning a little as he shrugs off her arms. He shifts around on the bed to face her and she mirrors his position.  
"I mean, I have to, don't I? I want to, but I..."  
His voice trails off, weak and defeated.

Ash's eyebrows nit together as she takes Stiles' hand.  
"You don't have to do anything. You owe that godforsaken town nothing. Nothing, you hear me?"

Stiles' eyes rise to meet hers.  
"I owe my dad everything."

Ash's face falls and runs her thumb over Stiles' skin in a soothing manner.  
"I know honey. But are you sure about this? You shouldn't push yourself into something you're not ready for."

Stiles' lets out a strangled laugh.  
"Ash, it's been ten years. If I don't face that town now, I never will."

Ash nods, her facial expression concentrated, as if she's thinking something over very carefully.  
"Well, in that case... I found us another job. Now we've officially dealt with the wendigos, we have to get a move on anyway. We were specially requested for a job just outside Beacon Hills. I wasn't gonna tell you, but..."  
She looks guilty, apologetic, and concerned. Probably for the well being of her best friend. As per usual.

Stiles' smiles fondly at the woman in front of him.  
"Hey, I get it. I appreciate you trying to look after me, I really do."  
She smiles gratefully up at him.  
"Well, that's settled then. Mind telling me what we'll be dealing with?"

"Vampires."

You see, Stiles' and Ash are what you may describe as... assassins. Supernatural assassins. With a Biestiary, a good supply of weapons, and an occasional burst from Stiles' trusty ol' spark (which he never learned how to harness too his full potential and now may never will. Thanks Deaton), they can take down anyone and anything. Mitch Rapp and Ash Wright are the best of the best, the top dogs in the business, the most difficult to get your hands on, since they are so high in demand. They've spent the last four months dealing with a wendigo epidemic in Upper West Manhattan. It's common knowledge that wendigos travel in families, very large ones sometimes, but this was more like an infection. They were everywhere. And just when you thought you had the last ones BOOM. Another 5 cases. Honestly, it's no wonder that the FBI know about the supernatural and are willing to go to any lengths to help cover it up. How on earth they'd manage to cover up cases like that otherwise is beyond Stiles. Anyways, as of 4 days ago, this particular part of Manhattan is wendigo-free. They've now been paid for their services and have no more business in Manhatten. Staying any longer is unnecessary and frankly, dangerous. Being one of the best supernatural assassins in the country certainly puts a target on your back for the types who need to be supernaturally assassinated themselves. While their identities are very secure, since employers don't usually want to meet face to face (and even if they do, they have enough sense not to leak anything), it's always best not to take chances.

Stiles scrunches up his nose in feigned disgust and disappointment.  
"Vampires? We did that already. Totally easy. Honestly, with the way they go down like bowling pins, I wonder why people always think they're so invincible."

Ash huffs out a laugh.  
"There are different types of vampire, idiot. We just got real lucky that time. Apparently, even we need to watch out for these guys."

Stiles scoffs.  
"Clearly whoever said that hasn't met the gorgeous BAMF, Ashlyn Wright."

Ash punches Stiles' arm, giggling.  
"And they obviously haven't met the very handsome and charismatic spark, Mitch Rapp."

Stiles winks.  
After a moment of silence once their laughter ceases, Ash hugs Stiles. They don't need to talk to communicate their feelings. This friendship is the closest that either one of them have ever felt to a telepathic bond. Sure, Scott was like his brother and his rock and his best friend in the whole entire world (at the time), but Stiles never felt this strong of a connection with him.

Ash pats the nape of Stiles' neck with her hand gently, then lifts herself off the bed, leaving Stiles' making grabby hands in her direction, making her laugh.  
"Right, you get back to Melissa, and I'll confirm the job with the employers, then I'll get started on packing our shit. Oh, and dear god, Stiles, take a shower. I don't need a werewolf nose to know that you stink."  
She laughs, racing out of the door after narrowly avoiding the pillow being thrown in her direction.  
Stiles rubs at his eyes aggressively with his fists, taking a moment to collect himself.

He picks up his phone, re-reading the message 2 more times, before responding.

To +209-207-4019

\- I'll be there sometime tomorrow afternoon. Set up the guest bedroom. I'll see you tomorrow. -S


	2. A Quality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles reconnects with his dad and Melissa, who reveal something about their relationship. Stiles officially comes out to them.

The flight is long and torturous.  
Sure, they're only cooped up on the plane for 6 hours at most, but Stiles has always felt claustrophobic on aeroplanes, even when hes not vibrating with nerves.   
He feels stupid for feeling so antsy, despite Ash, somehow knowing what he's thinking, repeatedly reassuring him that this is big a really big step, and it's okay to feel nervous. He's practically on the verge of a panic attack.  
But he's okay, thanks to Ash.

Don't be mistaken, no one can take away Stiles' elite ability to have completely one-sided conversations yet manage to keep himself and others entertained, even if they won't admit it. Derek. That will always be his thing, but Ash gives him a run for his money when necessary.

She keeps the conversation flowing, even when Stiles is a bit unresponsive. She knows to not let the conversation fault and ebb away. To keep him engaged and away from suffocating within his own thoughts.

Eventually, the plane lands. Ash holds onto Stiles' hand, in case he makes a bolt for it back to the plane, to take him anywhere but to California.   
The half an hour taxi ride is similar to the flight, with Ash just trying to keep Stiles' mind occupied. 

All too soon, the taxi pulls up in front of the Stilinski household, and the cab driver kicks them out after Ash pays him.   
Stiles is lost for words. It feels like his heart is caught in his throat.  
Then Stiles sees it.   
The jeep, parked to the far left in the driveway.

When Stiles left he took his jeep, his phone, wallet, and clothes on his back.  
He was in the middle of a deserted highway, and he'd been driving for god knows how long. He had been crying, but right then, he really started breaking down.  
He had swerved sharply to pull over on the side of the road, and started sobbing. He got out of his jeep, and proceeded to kick the shit of the jeep door, before remembering his metal bat in the backseat, and smashing the window in with one swing.   
Stiles had then wrapped his arms around himself, slipped down to the floor and lent against the side of the jeep, feeling so empty and barren.   
He sat there till it got light. The memory is hazy, since Stiles was exhausted, but he thinks he abandoned the jeep, and started walking. Eventually he hitch-hiked on a tractor, which dropped him off at the nearest motel. He now wonders what the guy driving the vehicle thought of this dishevelled, tear-stained teenager with a limp. Did he feel pity? Wondering what had broken this poor boy? Or did he think he think Stiles pathetic? Like Stiles did.

Stiles realises that, for the jeep to be there, someone had to have driven out there, probably his father, looking for him. Only to find Stiles' beaten jeep. Discarded and abandoned. The jeep in front of him has been fixed up and looks brand new, as if it was waiting for him to come home.   
Stiles hadn't contacted anyone for three weeks after leaving in such a hurry. For three weeks, no one knew if he was dead or alive or something in between. All they had to go off was his jeep. And at the time, Stiles couldn't bring himself to care.  
But now, tears spring to Stiles eyes. After what he had done to this poor man, his own father, he couldn't possibly look him in the eye.

Stiles starts shaking his head, taking steps backwards and tugging on Ash's wrist.  
"No. Nope. I can't do it. We have to go."

"Ohhh no you don't."  
Ash grips both his hands.  
"There's no backing out now," she hisses, "You need to do this sooner or later-"

"But I-

"Stiles?"

During their whispered argument, both had failed to notice a woman step open the front door and step onto the driveway. She has a petite figure, and black wavy locks with grey roots pulled back into a loose ponytail. She's dressed in a turquoise nurses outfit with a grey cardigan slung over her shoulders. Her face is more wrinkled than Stiles remembers.

"Melissa."  
Stiles sounds breathless. Any resolve he'd sworn to on his way here was discarded as he steps towards the woman and runs into her now open arms.   
Melissa has a tear streaming down her cheek as Stiles welcomes her with an embrace.

She grabs his shoulders and pushes him back to inspect his face, touching his hair and beard, fussing over him like a mother might.  
"Stiles, you look so different. You're... a man. A grown up man."

Stiles grins.  
"Why thank you. Time has been your friend too, Melissa. You don't look a day over eighty"

Melissa swats at him with her hand, chuckling as he ducks and dodges the impact.  
She then peers over Stiles' shoulder to look at Ash, who's standing their awkwardly, but with a genuine smile plastered on her face, happy to see Stiles receive motherly affection.  
"And who's your friend?"

Ash waves   
"I'm Ash. Stiles'... roommate."

"She had to come, she'd be hopeless without me. I'd come back to find the apartment burned down and her body half eaten by canines."  
Stiles deadpans, but breaks out into a shit eating grin as Ash's expression.

Melissa beams at her.  
"Stiles, come inside. Your father isn't mobile enough to come meet you out here."

Stiles takes a shaky breath before walking through the front door.

*****

The Sheriff and Stiles are both in tears as they embrace each other, Stiles bent at a weird angle to reach his father in the wheelchair.  
Stiles is mumbling tearful apologies into his father's shoulder,and Noah is gripping him in a tight bear hug, as if he's never letting go again.

Noah holds and lifts Stiles' chin to get a good look at him.  
"Son... you look like a homeless person."

After a moment of silence Stiles bursts into laughter, body shaking as he hugs his father again.  
Soon enough, Melissa, Ash and Noah are laughing too, and for a minute, everything is just beautiful.

*****

"I can't believe that NEITHER of you told me!"

Melissa laughs, snuggling into Noah's side as Stiles fan boys over her engagement ring. Ash rolls her eyes at him (after congratulating Melissa and the Sheriff, of course).  
They've been sitting in the living chatting for hours now, getting constant tea refills (courtesy of Melissa) and are now, after Ash brought attention to the ring on Melissa's hand, discussing the engagement of Noah Stilinski and Melissa McCall.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this! Me and Sc- I worried that you two were never gonna get your act together!"  
As he became more relaxed in his childhood living room, Stiles became more expressive, talking loudly and flailing his limbs.   
"But how did it happen?? I didn't even know you two were DATING!?!"

"We weren't."  
The sheriff chimes in happily, not taking his eyes off Melissa.

"We were having dinner, like every Friday, and suddenly Noah dropped to his knees and confessed his undying love for me. We kissed once then he asked me to marry him straight after, he said-"

"-What have we got to lose? I wasted so much time with Claudia, and I'll be damned if I make the same mistake with you."  
Noah finishes off, pecking Melissa on the lips and winking at Stiles when he squeals at how cute the two are.

Ash smiles politely at the two.  
"That's an adorable story. You two make a lovely couple."

"Speaking of lovely couples," Noah raises his eyebrows suggestively at the pair, "Whats going on here, huh?" He gestures between the two.

"Oh god dad-"  
"Ew that's not-"  
"Ew?! What's that supposed to mea-"  
"Stiles I didn't mean it like tha-"  
"Well how DID you mean it Ashly-"

"Okay, kids!" Melissa holds up her palm like a stop sign, "I take it you're not together then! Well, how are your respective love lives?"

Ash frowns  
"I've never had a proper long-term relationship."

Melissa leans over to pat her knee  
"Aw, why's that?"

"I don't know. Might be because I'm aesexual.

Noah makes a face  
"What's asexual?"

"It means I don't like sex. Has never appealed to me and never will. I'm all for romance and love but there's a point where it gets icky for me."

Melissa nods, moving forward in her seat.  
"Wow, that's interesting. Is it difficult, being asexual?"

Ash shrugs.  
"Not really. Sure, it makes my love life a little more difficult, and options limited since sex seems to be the only thing on an average american's mind."

Stiles lifts his mug in the air  
"I'll drink to that."  
He ignores Ash's deadpan  
"I, my good fellows, have been single for six years now. Which makes zero sense for I, am a catch."

Noah snorts, and gets swatted at by Melissa.  
"Who did you last date, Stiles?"

"Ummmm..."

Ash clicks her fingers in realisation.  
"Jamie."

"Oh yeah! The bleach blonde! I remember on our first date, when he told me-"  
Stiles froze. That's not how he planned to do that.

Melissa's mouth falls open a little after processing Stiles' words.  
"A-are you gay, Stiles?"

"Ermm, no. I'm bisexual. I like girls and boys."  
Stiles shoots her finger guns.

"I-I... good for you, Stiles. As long as you're happy."

They all turn to Noah, who looks completely unfazed.  
"What? I knew."

Stiles turns a little red.  
"You did? H-how?"

"Well, you're infatuation with Derek Hale, for one thing, was the least heterosexual thing ever."

Stiles begins to protest loudly, only to be immediately shushed by Ash.  
"Shhhh! Let the man speak!"

"And I knew you couldn't be gay, because of your infatuation with Lydia. So, what other conclusion was there? Besides, you just have a... quality."

Stiles chokes on air  
"A quality??"

Ash lets out a bark of laughter  
"And I'll drink to THAT."

Melissa yawns   
"Right, I'll be off to bed now. I have an early shift tomorrow, and Noah, you have to be exhausted by now. You were supposed to be on bed rest, but I thought since Stiles is here... Anyways, Ash the guest room is set up for you, and Stiles, your room is just as you left it."

Stiles ignores how that kinda hurt.

Stiles gets up off the sofa too  
"Yep, I think I should hit the hay. Jet lag, yknow. Plus, I want to see my old bedroom again."  
Stiles hugs both Melissa and his father. Ash, who is going in for a handshake, gets pulled into an embrace too.

Stiles walks up these familiar stairs, on the familiar route to his bedroom, Ash following right behind him.  
He's not prepared to walk into his bedroom.  
He collapses on the bed.  
The sheets are clean and the room doesn't even smell like dust.  
How often does Melissa or his father clean this room?

Ash closes the door behind her, walking up to the desk with all his framed pictures.  
She picks up a framed photo of Stiles and Scott when Stiles had a buzz cut and Scott had fluffy hair that made him look like a puppy.  
Whether it's after or before the bite, Stiles doesn't know.  
"God that hair cut is tragic..."

Stiles chuckles at Ash's only take from that photo.

He gets up to stand next to her, looking over each photo.

One of Scott and Stiles at 4 years old playing in the sandbox.  
One of Stiles and his mom a couple months before she got really bad.  
One of Lydia selfies that Stiles photo bombed by kissing her cheek.  
One of Isaac posing professionally with his scarfs while Stiles was hyping him up .  
One of Derek sitting on Stiles window sill, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  
One beautiful picture of Allison smiling.  
One of Stiles with the batman mask sharpied onto his face, and Erica with the catwoman mask sharpied on hers, with Boyd looking on in disapproval from the background.  
One of Peter and Stiles wearing identical sunglasses and peace signing.  
One very chaotic blurry image of Stiles and Malia pulling ridiculous faces.  
One selfie of the group with Liam and Mason that Stiles remembers loving because of Kira's awkward smile.  
The one that Ash is holding.  
And Stiles, Scott, Lydia, and Malia's senior photo.

Stiles explains each one, telling Ash who everyone is so she can put faces to names.

"You were quite the cutie, Stiles."  
Ash squeezes his hand while Stiles tries not to cry.  
"It's okay. You'll be okay."

Stiles nods, takes a second to gather himself, then drags Ash to sit with him on the bed.  
"So, whats happening with the Vampires?"

"I contacted the guys, and they want to meet us at this cafe tomorrow at eleven. I doubt they're supernatural, since they seemed to have no idea what they're doing. They can give us some of the information they've already gathered, and we can get into researching straight away. Hopefully they'll have something good so we don't have to go out there ourselves to test the waters."

Stiles nods  
"Okay, all good so far."  
Stiles stands and bows slightly, extending a hand to Ash,  
"May I escort you too your chambers?"

Ash laughs  
"Of course, you lead the way my liege."

She reaches forward to grasp Stiles' hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done! Y'all enjoying this so far?


	3. Stiles-fucking-Stilinski

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're introduced very briefly to the McCall pack.  
> Stiles and Ash discover the identities of their employers.

The door to the loft slides open, slamming violently against the other side of the entryway. 

"We do _not_ need your help, Peter."

The man at the door snarls at the older man lounging on the couch, who's reading a newspaper, seeming unfazed by the dramatic intrusion.

" _Au contrair_ , True Alpha. You and your pack are proving to be much more useless than usual, somehow. I'm being a responsible adult, and acknowledging when we're beat. Well, when you're beat. Forgive me for putting the fact that the Beacon Hills population is dropping like flies before your deluded sense of pride."

Peter places his newspaper to the side, uncrossing his legs and rising to stand before Scott.

"Besides, _I'm_ not helping. Oh no, no, no. I'm not wasting anymore of my time on this shit-show of a town. I hired help. Professional killers who can get the job done with much less fuss and in much less time. And believe me, Scott, I have a flair for the dramatics myself. But I physically cannot watch your pathetic excuse of a pack fail spectacularly one more time. Seriously. It used to be amusing, but now it's just painful to watch, the second-hand embarrassment being too much to bare."

Scott shows off his alpha red eyes, despite the fact that Peter doesn't even flinch at them anymore, growling.

"Call them off. We don't need any help. This is _our_ town, and we will protect it!"

"No can do, Scott. I'm sure they're already here by now. They're in very high demand, but chose this job, and I'm sure they won't appreciate you interfering and losing them said job, nor let you get away with it. Like I said; professional killers. I take it that you will not be joining me to meet them formally tomorrow?"

The alpha scowls at the older wolf.

"No I will not. I have too much to deal with right now to concern myself with stupid hunters. I'll stay out of their way, and I trust they'll stay out of mine. From now on, you stay out of my fucking business, Hale!"

Scott storms out of the loft, pulling the sliding front door to a violent close.

Peter sighs, sitting back down to resume reading his paper.

He says to himself, dejectedly, "Derek it is, then."

*****

The two teens both crash into Malia at once, claws already extended and completely wolfed out.

The werecoyote, however, kicks her left leg out to hook her ankle around the more crouched teen's neck, pulling her foot, and him, down to the floor violently, shoving her boot heel against his neck, leaving her available to crush his neck in an instant. Malia simultaneously grabs one of the other teen's wrist, twisting it behind her back and throwing her across the room, the impact of her body against the wall sending a roaring shudder through the training room.

Throughout the short ordeal, Malia's eyes only flashed blue.

After a second, Malia removes her boot from the boys neck and reaches down to him, pulling him up after he grabs her hand.

"Jeremy, I could tell from your obvious crouched stance that you were planning to take out my legs. But, honestly, even if I hadn't fought back, I don't think you'd have succeeded anyway. You are tall but thin, with no meat or muscle on your bones, and lack coordination in general."

The skinny boy, Jeremy, cringes at her words, hand massaging his neck.

"Renee, you good?", Malia calls out to the girl.

The girl, Renee, groans but rises steadily to her feat.

"I knew from the way you were looking so blatantly at my neck and flexing your hand in a squeezing motion that you were going to go for my throat. You have no subtlety, and your confidence leads you to overestimate your own strength and underestimate mine."

Malia sighs in an exasperated fashion.

"You're both way too predictable. Your form can be perfect, but giving your opponent the upper hand of knowing your plan of attack can be your biggest downfall in a fight."

She gestures for the two to sit back down with the others watching them. 

"Right. That was a perfect example of what we should not be doing. Judah, you're up against Mia. Jeremy, you'll be working out, Theo training you, building up some muscle. And I want Kayden against Liam. Renee, watch Kayden and Liam, and take note of how they calculate each other's strength and try to catch each other off guard. Isaac, can you show Gabe the ropes? Great. Now I'm gonna go find your alpha and find out what the fuck he's doing instead of training his pack. "

The room around her shifts, as most get into stance, ready for a fight, Renee sulks, Theo leads Jeremy to the gym equipment, and Isaac sits next to the frightened-looking 14 year old, talking in a low, comforting tone. 

Malia tries to smile.

*****

"Peter I don't like this."

"You don't like any of my ideas. Relax, nephew. Sure, I'm not experienced with these type of people, but I doubt they'll screw us over. As long as they get the right sum of money."

Derek and Peter Hale are sat inside a busy, but not too-busy, coffee shop. The perfect place to have sketchy meeting for an illegal business deal.

Derek hadn't been on board with this idea from the start, having had extremely bad luck with assassins and hit-men in the past. But Peter insisted that the incompetence of the McCall Pack would be the death of this town, and Derek couldn't disagree.

"Braeden screwed me over for the right sum of money."

"Well, yes, but that's because that sum of money was coming from someone else, not you. At no point did I mention loyalty."

There's a moment of silence as Derek thinks about that. He and Braeden hadn't been on the road for 6 months before she tried to kill him. Honestly, Derek didn't feel to broken after the break-up. Perhaps he'd subconsciously prevented himself from getting too attached to Braeden. Though he did miss her company for a while after. That's when Derek really, _really_ realised how horrific his track record was. He'd stuck to hookups since that, knowing better than to go into another relationship.

"Who are we looking out for again?"

Peter sighs irritably

"Man and a women, dressed completely normal. They know what table we're at, anyways. Remember, Ash Wright and Mitch Rapp."

Derek looks down intently at the table, focusing his senses. He hears fragments of a muffled conversation.

"So you're sure this is the right place?"

Male voice, eerily familiar in a way that unsettles Derek but weirdly soothes him too. He can't place it.

"Yep, right in there, table 7."

Female voice, not recognisable in the slightest.

"You should go in first, scout for danger."

"I'm not your sniffer dog."

"At least a sniffer dog would be more pleasant company."

"Shut up, we're here."

"Great, the quicker we're in, the quicker we're-"

Derek and Peter's head snaps towards the door as they hear the bell above it ring, signalling someone has entered the shop.

Derek's mouth falls open.

Because, standing in that doorway, though looking so completely different, though being ten years older than when Derek last saw him, is Stiles Stilinski.

_Stiles-fucking-Stilinski._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this at around half 3am when I got off a Skype call with a friend, and now it's 6am and I regret every single life choice that's led me to this moment lmao. I know this is a little bit of a filler but I hope you like it :)


	4. Business as Usual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Derek meet the hit-men Peter hired, and are greeted with a shock.

Stiles is ready to turn on his heel and run in the opposite direction, but Ash, knowing exactly what's going through his head, secures him place by placing a hand on his forearm. Sure, it's also a form of comfort, but restraint nonetheless.

Peter Hale, yes, _Peter Hale_ , is sat there, looking completely gobsmacked, wearing a white v-neck. Great. Nice to know some things never change.

And Derek... _whoa_. If Derek looked good at 22, then by 34 he has certainly reached the standard of a deity. Stiles makes sure to put a hold on this train of thought before he finds himself on his hands and knees in front of Derek, kissing the man's feet and pledging his life-long allegiance. But seriously, Stiles would worship Derek any day. He'd go full out, too. Candles, pillows, offers of bread and sparkling pink cider. Blood sacrifice? Sure, he has plenty to spare.

He then that this, after all, is a business meeting. This is his _job_. So, despite this... unique situation, it's still business as usual.

Coaching his expression into one of stone, he and Ash, ever in sync, walk towards the astounded men.

Ash sits opposite Peter, who now looks like he's contemplating all of his life choices, and Stiles opposite Derek, who just looks... floored. 

The intense silence that follows in painful, and Stiles is sure that the anxiety rolling off him would've overpowered the werewolves' senses to the point where they passed out from intoxication. But Stiles had masked his and Ash's scents on reflex when faced with the two werewolves. Only to a certain extent, of course. A were could still smell their presence, just with more difficulty, but not things like emotion.

Peter opens his mouth to say something, but Stiles interrupts, sticking his hand out to offer a handshake.

"Mitch Rapp. This is my partner, Ashlyn Wright. What can we do for you?"

Peter hesitates, before taking Stiles' hand, looking sceptical, but playing along.

"Peter Hale. This is my nephew, Derek."

Derek is unresponsive, just staring at Stiles, mouth hanging open in a, _god dammit_ , attractive display.

Peter raises an eyebrow, looking between Ash and Stiles.

"Well, _Mitch_ , me and your partner have already vaguely outlined our situation. Vampires. Thirsty, blood-sucking creatures with less soul than me."

Trust Peter Hale to be a bigoted old supernatural-racist.

Ash smiles. The type of smile you shouldn't trust.

"Fun. Have anything we can work with? What kind of vampire will we be facing? We're aware how powerful these particular vampire are, based off your description of the cases. Did you see anything up-close?"

Peter shakes his head

"Personally, no. I didn't encounter anything, the other pack in this territory did. The alpha doesn't want my involvement. Much less hired help. All I know is that we have a vampire problem, and that it's too much for his pack. I don't even know if we're dealing with a coven. My nephew is the one in the loop."

"So, do you think there's a chance we're dealing with a Nosferatu?"

Stiles shakes his own head before Peter can respond.

"No. From the photos of murders I've seen, and how frequently they occur, one vampire wouldn't do this. Even a powerful, ancient one with direct demonic roots. Its out of it's nature for a lone Nosferatu to move to a place like Beacon Hills, and kill more often than they need to feed, in the same place and fashion repeatedly."

Peter sighs

"Yes, but this is not in the nature of any kind of vampire. They're smart. Smarter than werewolves. This behaviour could, of course, be excused if this was an amateur. But Mr McCall and his cronies would have taken it down by now if that was the case. Smarts may not be his thing, but even I know better than to underestimate his and his pack's collective strength."

Peter's eyes dart over to Stiles at the direct mention of Scott, probably expecting some kind of reaction. But Stiles doesn't deliver, keeping his composure and his gaze steady.

Ash and Peter continue to discuss the matter, getting along like a house on fire. At first, Stiles would occasionally butt in with an intelligent, and rather impressive, piece of input, if he does say so himself.

Stiles tries to focus on the conversation, he really does, but he can't concentrate. He shouldn't be zoning out, considering the amount of adderall he'd consumed earlier (moving his prescription round while travelling with Ash had been a _bitch_ ). But it's impossible, even with all the medication in his system, and the fact that he'd previously disciplined his brain into never slacking off on the job, to pay attention to vampires, yadda yadda, when _Derek's_ sitting right there. Derek, Stiles' infamous sexual awakening, who's currently staring down at the table, unable to bring himself to look at Stiles. Charming.

Derek with his stupid chiselled jawline, that could totally cut through skin like his fangs.

Derek with his stupid biceps that bulge visibly, even below the fabric of his black henley. No leather? Hm, pity.

Derek with his stupid dark hair, that looks soft to the touch.

Derek with his stupid piercing green eyes, that gave the impression that he could see right past your exterior and into your own- oh shit. 

Stiles turns his head towards Ash and Peter's conversation, keeping control of his breathing, heartbeat, even the flush that threatened to pool his cheeks (crazy, right?? Ash had taught him serious witch craft-without-the-magic type shit when she had trained him for interrogation).

Ignoring the prickling sensation of someone's eyes on him, Stiles tries to place the conversation, but inevitably fails. He just zones out until he feels a hand on his soldiers.

"Mitch, we're going."

Stiles gets up off the wooden chair, refusing to look anywhere but at his feet at risk of catching Derek's eye. 

Ash catches his hand in her own as they leave the cafe.

*****

Peter and Derek just sit once the other two leave.

"Well that was amusing. And disturbing. A healthy mix."

"Did you know?"

Once upon a time, Derek would have thrown Peter against the cafe wall and roared the accusation, but over the years, Derek has lost the energy to get mad over Peter's shenanigans.

Peter huffs

"Pffft, no! God, if I'd known, I could've thought up and executed about a dozen uncomfortable situations to put many people in by now."

"Do you think he knew?"

"I... don't know. I couldn't feel the kid. Even his heartbeat was faint, liked it had been masked. Plus his face was blank, which is quite out of character for the Stiles we know and love. Of course, he's not a kid anymore. What is he, 27? 28? We know nothing about him, we haven't known him for 10 years. Sure, we could both write a wiki page on 17 year old Stiles Stilinski, but 28 year old Mitch Rapp? Brand new territory."

"... Should we tell Scott?"

Peter seems to ponder for a second.

"No. He doesn't want my help? So he won't get my heads-up. I just hope I'm there to see the inevitable reunion."

Derek nods.

Stiles was just... god, he can't even describe it.

He has grown into his lanky limbs, and his shoulders have broadened. His hair is long and shaggy, and he wears a beard almost as well as Derek. He carries himself with a new air and attitude, and he's a lot more intimidating now. Whoa. Since when was that a thing for Derek? Wait, a thing-? Oh no, not again, Derek Hale.

He can't deny the back flip his stomach did when he looked up to see Stiles- or Mitch- what the fuck is even going on there??- staring into Derek's eyes, his eyes heavy and intense and just... damn.

He also can't deny the raging crush Derek had on the kid ten years ago. Derek disciplined and fought these thoughts upon first meeting Stiles, who was only 16 at the time. And he didn't have too many issues with that, since it's common knowledge that no one can unhealthily repress feelings like the Hales. But as Stiles got older, as he looked older and aged mentally into a man beyond his years, Derek knew what he was feeling was no longer a fleeting juvenile crush.

But could anyone really blame Derek for harbouring feelings for underage Stiles? Who wouldn't have had a crush on Stiles? He was smart, funny, cute, endearing in so many ways, did he mention cute? He was the whole package, and it amazed Derek how Lydia couldn't see that at the time. Don't get him wrong, Derek was over the moon when Stiles and Lydia didn't work out, but Derek can't understand why it took so long to convince Lydia to give it a shot.

Besides, it's not like Derek ever acted on those feelings, he knew it was wrong.

If his memory serves him well, Stiles liked him too, at the time. Derek always smelled fear mixed with arousal whenever he was around Stiles (though that could be blamed on being a hormonal teenage boy) and could tell when he was started to get flustered. The fear thing went away after a while, as did the constant arousal, but he always felt there was something more behind those momentary glances and lingering eye contact.

Of course, he could've been making it up and lying to himself to get by, but he hoped.

And now... god, Derek doesn't know if he can do it again.

But that sounds stupid. Like Peter said, Derek doesn't even _know_ Stiles anymore, and he's not about to lower himself to simping over a stranger. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooo sorry this took so long! I'll try get the next chapter up real quick to make up for it <3

**Author's Note:**

> So guys, like I said, I haven't wrote anything in years so I'm a little rusty, sorry. Please keep any hate to yourself, but I really appreciate constructive criticism :) I can't promise this will be amazing, but I have a bunch of great ideas for this fic, so please stick around! <3


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